WBY Truth or Consequences  reprised
by wildblueyonder6
Summary: Sam, Dean and John Winchesters. PG 13 for language. Sam gets high and has to deal with the repercussions of it.  Parental spanking of a teenager.  If that offends, please don't read.


Truth or Consequences Reprised

Sam, Dean and John Winchesters. PG 13 for language. Sam gets high and has to deal with the repercussions of it. Parental spanking of a teenager. If that offends, please don't read.

**A wonderful reader offered this suggestion – a follow up on "Truth or Consequences" - much like the follow up on my story "Keyhole." (A prompt by another reader, I might add) It sounded like fun so here you go. "Truth or Consequences" is referenced here as well as "Lesson Learned". Neither are necessary to read to get this but you might enjoy them as a trilogy of sorts.**

XXX

Sam knew it was wrong. He knew it. He knew that Dad would be beyond pissed. He realized that Dean had got caught doing the very same thing last year and that had resulted in Dean getting his ass well and truly roasted. Despite all of this or maybe because of it, Sam wanted to smoke the weed.

Dillon was an okay kid. A little more popular than most and while Sam wasn't a bottom feeder, he didn't have a lot of friends. It was hard to make friends when you moved all the time. It was easier to just hang back and try to become part of the scenery. Sam didn't know why having friends were all that important to him, but sometimes it was. He had even worn Dean's AC/DC tee shirt this morning because Dillon liked AC/DC.

He was such a dweeb sometimes.

That was all Dad's fault. Dad and his need to chase down every monster that he could find. In retrospect, maybe that is why Sam smoked the joint. Dad would be pissed and pissing off Dad, while a dicey proposition at best, did offer some satisfaction. Then there was the knowledge that if he didn't get caught, he would put one over on Dad. He liked that idea.

Besides. How much harm could it do? It was just him and Dillon and two other kids. No one was skeevy or mean, they just found a large tunnel not too far from school. There was a sluggish stream that ran through it and a road that ran over it and it was dark and kind of safe. There was some graffiti on the walls. Even before Sam got high he knew no one could ever get in that position. The boys leaned up against the sides of the tunnel on the dry area and listened to the water quietly stream by.

They talked a little trash. Complained about Mr. Hairfield. There was a small but heated argument over Kitty O'Mally and did she really put out? But no one really cared and the more they smoked the less that mattered.

Sam thought he might make a fool of himself, but he only coughed a little when the sweet heady smoke filled his lungs. He held it in for a while…that seemed to impress Dillon. Of course Sam couldn't say that it was because Dad liked to train the boys in holding their breaths underwater -just in case they ever needed to. There were always Silkys and Water Sprites. Things that could drag a kid or man down to the murky depths. It was shit like that that made a boy want to get high. His life was fucked up beyond fucked up so if him getting high helped soften the edges then who cared? Dad wouldn't be home. If Dean found out, he would get a raft of shit but Dean wouldn't beat his ass for it. Dean wasn't like that. He might yell, call him an asshole and then tell him how stupid he was.

Getting high? It felt great. The other boys' voices were kind of muted and the water sounded pretty. The coolness of the tunnel contrasted with the heat of the day and it was like he had his own private air conditioner. The people who built this tunnel as a waterway for the water to go under the road did it just for him. A place to get high and cool off. Sam's private, secret spot. Well, except for Dillon and Brad and Justin. Or was it Dustin? If your name was Dustin would you get offended if someone called you Dusty? That seemed kind of offensive. Dusty sounded liked dirty. Who wanted to be called dirty. Sam didn't like being called Sammy but it was better than Dusty. Was Dusty better than Justy? Was Justy even a nickname? It was just too complicated to figure out so instead of that Sam just giggled. Because Justy and Dusty were both stupid nicknames.

Dillon looked over at Sam and laughed too. Did Sam say that out loud? He didn't know but no one seemed to mind.

"Funny boy eh? Winchester?" But Dustin/Justin wasn't mad he just smiled and handed the joint back to Sam. Sam inhaled deeply and passed it to Brad. They did it a few times back and forth.

It was very relaxing.

This had to be better than getting drunk. Sam got drunk once and that had ended poorly, plus he had a hangover. He heard you didn't get a hangover from weed. Dad drank too much sometimes and usually he just went to bed. But sometimes he got all pissy and shitty and when that happened it was best just to leave him be. There was nothing pissy or shitty about this. Everything was fine. Mellow. Chilled.

Sam couldn't even remember why he was worried in the first place. Weed was awesome!

They smoked till there was nothing left and then each went their own ways. Sam headed toward their rented house. Dillon headed home, Brad and Justin/Dustin too. That was just fine.

In fact everything was fine.

Sam walked up to and then unlocked the door to their house. It was a small house but it wasn't too bad. Much better than the last shithole they lived in. The sofa smelled a little musty and the TV wasn't too great but it could get a couple channels pretty good. Sam barely glanced at Dean. Dean was in the kitchen sharpening knives.

Poor Dean. Always working and doing what Dad wanted. If he was smart he would get high with Sam. They could get high together and it would be so sweet. He almost thought about saying something along those lines but he had no weed and he was so tired. And so relaxed – he needed a nap.

Sam face planted on the bed, still dressed in Dean's shirt and his jeans.

Sam woke to his brother's hand slapping his ass. Hard.

"Jesus, Dean! What the fuck you do that for?" Sam reached back and rubbed the sting from his butt.

"Cause you are high and Dad's coming home." There were some more words but it sounded like the adults in the old Charlie Brown cartoons. "Whah, whah, whah, whah, whah, whah." So it couldn't be that important.

If Dean couldn't even talk properly than Sam could most certainly go back to sleep.

So he did.

The next thing he remembered was icy cold water sluicing down his body as he sat slumped in the shower – wearing only his underwear.

"DEAN!" Because there is no way shape or form is it right for your brother to throw you in the an ice cold shower. That was just wrong on so many levels. He supposed he should be happy he wasn't butt naked because that would be like Dean. Strip him naked and throw him in the shower.

He could hear Dean muttering something about waking the fuck up and coffee. He was so cold but his hands couldn't quite reach the shower knob to turn on the hot water. He shivered and then heard Dean slam the door.

It took a few minutes for him to orient himself. Cold shower. Pissed Dean. Underwear. The fog cleared a bit.

Dad coming home.

Dad coming home?

That wasn't right. He wasn't due home till tomorrow at the earliest. If Dad was on his way home and Sam was high? Sam slowly stood up in the shower and shook his dripping hair, letting the ice cold water work it's freezing cold magic.

He washed his hair and gave himself a quick scrub.

Sam didn't bother to turn the hot water on.

He was in enough to last for a month of showers.

XXXX

Sam stepped out of the shower and padded quietly to his and Dean's room.

Dean was bellowing. Something about clothes and homework so he grabbed a pair of jeans and a clean shirt and slung his book bag over his back. He was in so much trouble. Really. Big. Trouble.

Sam stumbled down the stairs and eyed up his big brother standing by the coffee machine. Dean had his hip up against the counter and a scowl on his face. Dean was gonna slam him, Sam was sure so he tried his best little brother look and hoped that it worked.

"Sorry, Dean."

Sam wasn't used to Dean being this mad – but he was. Really mad. Dean glared. Glared at Sam. "Dad's due home any minute!" And just to make sure that Sam understood the severity of the situation he raked a hand across his short cropped hair. "Don't you remember Dad whoopin' the hell out of me last year for the same thing?"

Sam did remember. He had listened on the steps as Dad dressed Dean up one side and down the other. Then, in front of Bobby no less, he had made Dean drop trou and take a belt whipping. Something he rarely did. Sam liked to think he was a smart kid but obviously that was not the case because his big brother had bawled like a baby, and he was a year older than Sam was now.

If Dad found out? Sam was so fucked. Beyond fucked. In the back of his mind, Sam knew it was his own fault. He had no one to blame but himself. It didn't help all that much.

XXX

Sam tried to look studious when Dad came in. He was in a good mood and even ruffled Sam's wet head. Normally the hair ruffle made him a little crazy but now he just prayed that Dad would go to bed. In his head it was a mantra. _Go to bed. Go to bed. Go to bed._

Dad was talking something about the Glock and it had been a quick salt and burn. Of course it was quick! Sam wouldn't have smoked that weed if he thought Dad would be home so early. He almost thunked his head on the kitchen table. He was so dumb.

Sam prayed sometimes. Right now he was praying.

Dad drank the coffee Dean had made and then gave them the standard homework line before he headed upstairs.

Thank God.

Then from upstairs. "DEAN! – GET YOUR ASS UP HERE!"

Dean was scrambling for the steps before Sam even managed to get his chair pushed back.

Of course Dad would figure it out. He always figured it out.

Sam followed Dean as quick as he could. Dad was standing in their room holding Dean's shirt and why did Sam wear Dean's shirt? The shirt reeked of weed, just like the rest of the clothes laying on the floor. Why didn't he at least bag the damn clothes up in his duffle? Oh yeah, he was fucking _high._

"I thought we had this conversation last year, Dean." Dad was growling menacingly. That rumble that made you just want to run the other way. Dean almost stepped back into Sam he moved so fast to avoid whatever Dad was going to do. Sam knew why, he saw Dad's hands were on his belt.

Oh shit, shitshitshit.

"I'm sorry, Dad." Dean spoke clearly and didn't back up any more. He stood his ground quietly in front of Sam.

How could that man pull a belt off that fast? Sam swore no one could move like that.

Dean started to unsnap his jeans and it was then that Sam figured it out. Dean was going to throw himself under the bus for Sam. Or in this case, throw himself over Dad's lap or the bed, or wherever Dad wanted so that he would get his ass beat.

No. No. No.

Sam sometimes thought he was a coward and Lord, knew he didn't want this but it was his fault not Dean's.

Sam jumped in front of Dean. It wasn't terribly athletic but he managed to get his body between his brother and his father. Then he was blurting it all out. Dillon and Justy/Dusty and the tunnel and the weed and oh shit this was going to be bad.

Dad stood there a moment, belt dangling from his hands and then looked at the pile of clothes, grabbed Sam's jeans and Dean's shirt. Gave them another whiff and even from where Sam was standing he could smell the weed.

Dad dismissed Dean with a nod and the orders to get his homework done – that he and Sam were going to talk. Sam gulped but there was no saliva to swallow.

Dad was going to kill him.

Dean tried to intervene but Dad just told him to get his ass downstairs and Dean wisely went. Sam didn't blame him. Sam would have been running down the steps if he could.

Then it was just him and Dad. Dad and him. And the belt. Sam kept looking at it. The belt. He couldn't get his eyes off of it. He saw it almost every day. Around Dad's waist, sometimes rolled up on the table, once in a while still in belt hoops with Dad's jeans draped over a chair. It was nothing new. But he looked at it in a new light. A horrible new light.

Dad gestured to the bed and sat himself down. "Jeans and shorts, Sam." But Sam was already dropping his jeans and his underwear because Dad wasn't going to let this go without a bare assed spanking. Sam knew it so why bother with the prerequisites. Dad didn't lecture, he didn't need to. Sam knew why he was getting his ass handed to him.

He was aware.

Dad didn't grab the belt though. Sam offered a brief thank you to whoever was the patron saint of ass whippings. But then Dad started in with his hand and damn if his hand didn't sting like a sonofabitch. Dad had hand spanking down to an art form. Slap after slap. Overlapping, hard, and sharp. The sting went to down right burn. Sam knew it would hurt, Dad knew how to put a spin on spankings in such a way as to optimize the burn for the spankee. It made a boy think twice about being so stupid. It was pretty damn effective too because Sam didn't often get spanked and when he did, he remembered it. He did his best to avoid it and whatever got him in that position in the first place. Of course, while getting spanked Sam didn't really think all of that through, more just ow and ouch and crap and why the hell did he do something so dumb?

Then he was crying and sniveling and crying some more. It couldn't be helped. Dad kept it up for a few more minutes. Just to make sure he got the point across.

_Yes, yes you did, Dad. Got it. No weed._

Then he stopped and let Sam pull his underwear and jeans up. Sam couldn't stop sobbing and it hurt even more to pull up his clothes but he wasn't going to stand around crying bare assed.

Dad held him tight and let him bawl all over his shirt. Dad was never afraid to over a hug to either boy but it seemed that post spanking hugs were longer. Maybe it was just because Sam let it_ be_ longer, he wasn't sure about that.

Finally, when Sam had stopped crying and was down to sniffles he pulled away a bit and Dad eyed him solemnly.

"We need to talk about this Sam."

"I thought that was what we just did." Sam didn't sound impudent, he was just unsure about what Dad wanted.

Dad smiled a bit but then lifted two fingers to Sam's chin, tilted his head up to meet his eyes.

"You need to understand why this is so important to me."

Sam nodded. He couldn't trust himself to really talk.

"First, getting high is against the law." Dad raised his hand to stop the protest that might be coming. "I know, I know, we break the law routinely but it's not the same. Out job is dangerous, what we do requires that break the law but we have to keep a low profile. You know this, Sam. If you had gotten busted by a cop, you could have found yourself in jail. That is the kind of attention we don't need. If people start looking into us too closely, well there are a lot of blank spaces that might be found out. What if some over zealous social worker thinks she needs to step up to the plate and figures she needs to take you into protective custody or something? Can't happen, son. I can't let you get involved with CPS. You know this."

Dad paused a moment and once again Sam nodded. He did know this.

"Secondly, you were getting high in a tunnel of all places. You know what type of shit loves tunnels and waterways. Jesus, Sam, something could have gotten you boys. "

Sam's eyes darkened a bit, "I can handle myself, Dad."

Dad shook his head. "Against some things, sure - if you are on your game. But high? Christ, Sammy your brother threw you in the tub in you underwear and you barely moved. Can't you see how this would be a problem? I don't have to put one and one together for you. You are a smart kid. Too smart to do dumb stuff like this and if me tanning your butt drives that home than so be it."

"Yes, sir."

"I mean business, Sam. You are not other kids. And even if you were, other kids get drug off by water sprites and trolls and Women in White all the time. You know too much to let that happen straight but messed up – with a chemical in your system that really we don't know anything about? It's not like you can buy weed from the liquor store. Who knows who sold it to Dillon? Who knows if it was laced with something else? It's a chance I can't ever let you take."

Sam sniffled hard again. Dad did make sense.

Dad pulled Sam into another hug again. Sam didn't resist. Sometimes Dad's smell alone was comforting. A combination of cheap soap, leather and smoke. Sometimes undertones of whisky and cigarettes. It seemed weird but it kind of felt like home.

"I won't lose you, Sam. I won't." Dad whispered low and deep. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd swear he heard a hitch in his father's voice.

Sam let himself be held for another moment and then pushed himself away from his father and wiped an arm across his nose. Gross.

Dad headed to the bedroom door. "Oh and Sam? You are confined to quarters too. One week."

Sam started to protest but one look at his father changed his mind.

"Yes, sir."

Dad shut the door and headed downstairs.

Sam tried to find a comfortable position on his bed. The problem was when Dad decided to wallop your ass, there was not too many comfortable positions to get into post spanking.

It was what it was.

Fifteen minutes later Dean came up – a thin gleam of sweat on his forehead. It was hot outside but not that hot.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. My ass hurts but that's not unexpected." Sam smiled a little.

Dean toed his boots off and sat heavily on his bed.

"What are you doin'? It's like 7:30?" Sam asked.

"Well thanks to you, I'm on lockdown tonight."

"Me?"

"Yeah, well the old man decided to make an example. You know, the lying by omission thing. Whatever."

"He made you run?" Sam gestured roughly in the direction of Dean's sweaty forehead and then glanced at his watch. There was no way that Dean ran 5 miles in 15 minutes. Dean was fast but not that fast. Dean obviously figured it out from Sam's expression.

"A mile…just a mile. So it was five minutes of dress down and seven minutes of run. A minute or so to take a leak." Dean took off his shirt and tossed it on the floor to join the other clothes laying there.

Sam nodded but he didn't quite get it. He couldn't quite stop the petulant sound in his voice." So it's you and me tonight. We can lay here and discuss our inability to follow orders."

"Yeah, or maybe your stupidity."

Sam had the good sense to blush a bit.

"Yeah, but you did the same thing, Dean. How come you can fuck up and I can't?" Sam queried.

"You can fuck up all you want – but when Dad whips my ass with that belt for smoking weed and you fucking know it? Well, doing the same thing is dumb, kid. Really dumb. I mean I was stupid but you watched him light my butt up bare assed in Bobby's kitchen. With Bobby there, no less. Then Bobby wanted to lick me too. So yeah, you doing the same thing was just so fucking dumb."

Sam nodded. "Well, when you put it that way."

"There's no other way to put it Sammy. Jesus, kid."

"Sorry."

Dean tried for a grumpy face. The stern older brother but instead he couldn't quite pull it off. Dean offered a slightly lopsided grin.

"Don't sweat it, Sammy. Just try to learn from my dumb ass mistakes next time okay? "

Sam nodded again. "Well, thanks."

"Whatever. It's what I do. Trying to look after my little brother."

"Well, I appreciate it. Didn't save my ass today though."

Dean laughed then a soft chuckle that made Sam smile as well.

"True, but there are some things even the most awesome of brothers can't do."

Sam nodded but in terms of Dean saving his ass? Well it was something he did routinely. It annoyed Sam sometimes, that his big brother was so protective, but other times, well it just felt right. No matter how damn dumb he was or how big a mess he made, Dean would be there for him.

Sam didn't doubt that at all.

End.


End file.
